Electric Kettles and Universal Mechanics
by rudefool
Summary: After October 31st, 1981, Remus Lupin is keen to escape the world that brought him so much pain. Escaping to the muggle world, the werewolf takes on many jobs and meets many people- that much is expected. What he doesn't expect, are the remarkable Muggles that go out of their way to renew his faith in humanity. Because everyone does tea and sympathy.
1. Chapter 1

A.N: This will be a collection of stories involving the great, wild and wonderful world of Muggledom and the interactions a certain werewolf, by the name of Remus Lupin, has in said world. There will be plenty of OCs, but nothing really romantic. This is gonna be a whole lot of renewing Remus's faith in humanity. Hah I also just wanted to make him do a bunch of muggle jobs.

Have fun (or something)

Rudefool

Chapter 1: Syzygy of a Lost Man: Together with the World's Sport

The first time of all the times it had been a Tesco. It was an easy job- almost insultingly easy after one conquered the basics of the pound note, electricity, shelve stocking and apathy at the register. The mindless patterns were like the cheap linoleum tiles that spread the store's floor: simple, thoughtless and numbing.

It was an easy job for Remus Lupin, who had always had some stormy sort of love affair with his occupation. This was not a position to fawn over. Under the rows of fluorescent lights and between isles of produce and snacks and meat and dairy, he found an ease so unlike any before.

Despite all the numbers and buttons and switches, Remus Lupin had happened upon a wonderful simplicity. It helped very much in regards to his very dead and very incarcerated friends.

With his disconnect from the world that caused him so much suffering, he was able to move on with his life.

It was a very lonely, tedious life, though. Most of his effort was put into forgetting things. It was kind of unfortunate.

* * *

Something about Sunday mornings was pathetic. Grey and dreary like every day in London, that particular Sunday marked the 3 month anniversary of Remus acquiring the job at the High Street Wembley Tesco. By extension, it was the four month anniversary of James and Lily Potter's deaths. Monday would bring the anniversary of Peter's. It was the cusp of March, damp and somber with constant smatterings of chilled raindrops. Quintessential London in its oppressive shroud, Remus found it only fitting that the weather suit his mood. It always suited his mood.

At five thirty in the morning Remus would climb up from the Wembley Central tube station looking exactly like one would expect a person to look at five thirty in the morning. After a short walk, he would reach his destination and a blissful day of complete mundanity. The clientele at that particular Tesco was polite and as equally apathetic as their cashier. Often enough, they even spoke different languages. The store was like all its fellows- except maybe the few by his flat in the East end that were exceptionally shabby, accompanied by a brand of terrifying youth Remus had never encountered before. Everything was brightly lit with harsh white light and the isles were narrow, orderly and bland. Nothing was obtrusive or offensive. It was a very normal job. Remus wasn't sure if the job made him feel equally average or if it somehow highlighted his irregularities.

The manager was shrewd and immaculately clean, a 56 year old immigrant from India. Remus was fascinated by the way Mr. Gupta spoke with the distinct lilt, but somehow managed to make everything, even questions, sound like a demand. Despite the tight shift he ran, Mr. Gupta was surprisingly lenient with his cashier's frequent sick leaves. One time, after watching Remus intently for an afternoon (the werewolf was very nervous about this), the manager offered to take his employee to his nephew who had just finished medical school at Oxford. It took a massive amount of verbal maneuvering to slip away from Mr. Gupta's offer-demand.

There were a handful of co-cashiers that Remus interacted with depending on day of the week and time of day. None of them were particularly awful individuals. A few of them were really quite pleasant. Because it was Sunday, however, the wizard was subjected to the presence of Chantelle. The young lady didn't have much claim to that title as she was as far from a lady as possible. Remus felt bad about judging as he was often subject to the prejudice of those in the wizarding community, but Chantelle seemed to go out of her way. She was short with a thickness that suggested she was once a skinny child. A massive pile of permed, blond hair sat on her head and her day-glow pink lips held behind them a massive amount of gum that she snapped at intervals throughout her shift. Remus really wouldn't have had that much of a problem with her if her language wasn't so coarse and slurred. On the rare times she had anything to say to him, the werewolf had to stop whatever he was doing to devote all attention to decoding her dialect. She read the tabloids most of the time, favoring sensational nonsense to coherent interaction with fellow human beings. Recently, Remus discovered Chantelle lived in the apartment complex across the street from his. He was not very keen on sharing that bit of knowledge with her.

After lunch, Nazir, Mr. Gupta's other nephew joined Remus at the other register. In contrast to the Oxford graduate, the Tesco manager derived little joy from Nazir's occupation. The young man had been born in London and was a first generation Englishman with dreams of Manchester football. Remus found him refreshing with his tireless enthusiasm and fanatical love for the sport. In some pained way, though, the wizard was instantly reminded of James.

As he settled into his Sunday morning shift, Remus cast a forced smile at Chantelle, who only snapped her gum in response. Straightening his muggle clothes, he let another melancholic day begin.

* * *

Maybe if Nazir hadn't felt so positively about his own life he wouldn't be so susceptible to feeling bad for others. There was his Uncle Sahib, whose life revolved around the management of the little Tesco in Wembley after his wife and son died in the conflict with Pakistan some ten years ago. Often enough, the prospective football player would feel slightly guilty for fighting his uncle so vehemently when it came to passion versus occupation. The older man had enough to worry about. There wasn't much that could be done about that issue, though. Nazir would work dead end jobs at a thousand Tescos before he gave up his dream. Sahib Gupta would have to accept that.

Sometimes he felt inexplicably sorry for Chantelle. Recently, she had gotten into a fight with her boyfriend. It was obvious things got physical as Tuesday revealed one of her earrings torn from her lobe. The sad part was how she still wore the other chunky plastic hoop like some frumpy, store-girl pirate. It was almost distressingly pathetic to witness.

Remus Lupin, however, was a complete mystery. Nazir worked with the man regularly. They were around the same age. That was probably the only thing the two held in common. Lupin was tall and quiet and in a constant state of placid dejection. Nazir was none of these. The man spoke with even words that, despite their hoarseness, could read a child to sleep. The idea of doing books on tape was suggested by the football player on multiple occasions. Nazir got the feeling Remus didn't know what a book on tape was.

Uncle Sahib had voiced concerns over Lupin's health before. Apparently, the employee would call in sick a few days a month. Nazir's uncle would have fired Remus the second instance if the man hadn't returned to work, after two days off, looking like someone who should have still been on sick leave. The way Sahib worried for his workers was almost endearing. Still it left Nazir with a bitter taste. Employees didn't replace a lost wife and son.

That afternoon, he had the shift with Remus. It was strange being around the other man. In London, everyone seemed ready to chat football with Nazir. Not Remus Lupin, though. Remus Lupin knew next to nothing about football. The first time Nazir brought the sport up, his fellow cashier asked something along the lines of "Is that the one with the black and white ball?" leaving the young Indian to repeat the question a few times incredulously.

"What are you? An American?" he had finished with equal disbelief.

"Ah. Sorry to disappoint, Nazir. I'm as British as tea and crumpets."

Nazir only shook his head

"Not British enough for football apparently."

At this, Remus chuckled and put down the book he was reading (Remus was always reading).

"I know about rugby and..." he quirked an eyebrow as if second guessing his next word "cricket?".

"Uncle loves cricket. Says it's a real, Indian game."

"Hmm..." and Lupin would always do that. Insert the unobtrusive "hmm" when he was thinking how to respond. Nazir found the man did a large amount of thinking- it was almost excessive. He wondered if Remus simply planned out the conversation before it started, but cancelled the thought. Predicting the future was impossible anyway.

"Say, how about a game of football?"

The was a brief pause at this sudden suggestion

"I don't know Nazir... I'm not the best company."

"Nonsense. I'll take you out with my mates on the team, show you the ropes- it'll be great. You'll love it."

Another thoughtful break. A sigh.

"Well I don't have much else to do. Don't count on being impressed, though. Never was much of an athlete."

Nazir grinned impossibly wide at this, completely ignoring Remus's reluctance.

"You'll love it."

That was really how everything began. Nazir had yet to corral Remus into a game, but the weather may have been a contributing factor. Winter seemed very reluctant to relinquish its grasp on England and was going out with a endless sheet of grey, icy rain. As the constant offers of getting Remus out for a game became less concrete, they transformed into a running joke. It seemed Nazir couldn't walk into a room containing Lupin without mentioning a play date. It became a sort of humorous greeting.

On that exceptionally drab Sunday things were little different from other days.

"Hullo Remus!" Nazir called over the shop bell and followed up with "Fancy a game of football?"

"Only if you fancy a game in this weather." the man at the register countered wryly, somehow always projecting his mild voice over the din of the store. Nazir shook his head fondly, this banter had become somewhat a practiced ritual. It was pleasant.

Beside Remus in the second register, Chantelle cracked her copious wad of gum and rolled her heavily done up eyes.

"You're invited too." he told the girl.

"I ain't goin' out in that rain. Just got mah 'air done." she fluffed the cloud of perm around her head and went back to her Princess Diana spangled tabloid.

"Well, we all have our priorities." Remus commented cryptically- at least to Chantelle who was either too focused or too clueless to realize the direction of the jab. Nazir only grinned and made his way by the Cadbury display.

"I'm off to have a word with Uncle. I'll treat you to lunch?" he was past the registers and at Sahib's office door. Turning, hand grasping the knob, Nazir dodged Remus's inevitable protest

"You don't have to-"

"Great! I'll see you right after this." and slipped into the other room deftly avoiding any other word from the man. He shut the door behind him with a resolute snap.

"Getting Lupin a square meal, Nazir?" Sahib Gupta was grinning past the files and catalogues spanning his desk.

"I'm not a caretaker, Uncle. We're getting lunch as friends."

"Ah, of course." he straightened a stack of papers, quirking an eyebrow at the younger man. It was times like these when Nazir felt his uncle forgot impossible dreams and settled for being proud of his nephew for simple things like kindness to others. Behind the thick framed spectacles, Sahib's magnified eyes twinkled.

"So what is it you wanted to speak about, Nazir?" the older man stilled his hands with this query and the small office was quiet between words. Biting his lip, Nazir ventured on. Surely his uncle would not be happy with the news about to be delivered.

"I'm moving to Manchester soon." as predicted, Sahib was frowning at him.

"Have you found a job there?"

"...Sort of?" Nazir wished he didn't have to sound so unsure. His uncle was raising his eyes skyward and uttering some quiet curse.

"Sort of? Nazir, I don't know were my brother went wrong, but it appears he did not teach you the value of planning ahead."

"Why do you always have to bring my father into things?"

"My brother was never a cautious man. I see where you take after him."

"And is that a problem?"

"Yes, Nazir. It is a problem!"

"Dad taught me to take chances, Uncle Sahib!"

"Of course! And look where that got your father!"

"And look where not doing just that got you! Managing a Tesco! Where's the glory? Where's the joy in running a bloody Tesco?"

There was a horrible pause where the air in the small office was suffocating. Nazir wanted to take the whole conversation back. He felt horribly guilty. Across the desk, Sahib Gupta had his head in his hands.

"I did take a chance, Nazir." he spoke quietly through his fingers "I took it, and I lost my family."

Swallowing hard, Nazir attempted to reforge the calm with which they had talked earlier.

"Uncle..." he clenched his fist before continuing "I'm sorry Uncle, but I need to do this. I can't live any other way."

"You just can't be a good boy, can you?" the older man asked roughly, but with distinct affection. Nazir released something between a laugh and a sigh.

"I would if a could."

Shaking his head slowly, his uncle stood and rounded the desk to face Nazir. With his careworn face folded into perfect long suffering, Sahib straightened his Nephew's collar.

"At least let me help you." he said, patting the young man's shoulder.

"And come back if things don't work out."

Nazir nodded with few words to say.

"I'm sorry uncle Sahib."

"Don't be Nazir. Don't be." he stilled his hand to rest on Nazir's shoulder and they met each other's eyes for a moment.

"I believe you promised Remus Lupin lunch."

"I did."

"Well, don't keep the man waiting. We'll talk about Manchester later."

And the young football player was pushed out the door.

"Lupin!" the manager barked "Take your lunch break."

Nazir plucked the book form Remus's hands feeling less awful about the previous conversation. Now devoid of his reading material, the man gave Nazir a mock glare.

"I guess there's no way to reschedule?"

"You're not getting put of this mate. Uncle says so." they both turned to Mr. Gupta who nodded expectantly

"What are you waiting for? Lunch break isn't all afternoon."

* * *

"That's the thing about football, though! All you need is a ball." Nazir's eyes were bright and his hands busy as he explained.

"It's the world's sport. Everyone plays: the rich, the poor, men, women." he placed his fork on the rim of his plate with careful bravado. Slowly, almost in awe, he began again.

"You don't even need shoes or a field. All you need is a ball. It's amazing."

Remus was grinning at him from across the table. It was one of the first times Nazir could identify distinct happiness on the other man's face.

"Are you trying to convert me to some religion?" Remus asked, humor evident. Of course, Nazir laughed, but as his chuckles died down, he replied with a serious "Yes."

That only prompted more mirth from the other man.

"You're crazy."

Nazir only nodded. "I know."

They lapsed into a spot of easy quiet and the football player alternated between peering at his companion and gazing around the restaurant. Remus looked terribly washed out surrounded by the rich jewel-toned drapery of the Tandoori Palace. The man always looked pale and tired; Nazir would always wonder what put Remus in his state. Did he have some chronic disease? Amidst the bright cloth, those thoughts seemed especially dark and depressing and Nazir scrambled for conversation. No doubt Remus, who was prone to somber, contemplative silence, was casting his mind to even darker spaces. It would be best if Nazir said something, anything to pull them both from that sad morass. Gathering his wits, the young man began with a sharp tug.

"How's life?" upon further consideration, Nazir considered this a very poor choice of words. It was clear how Remus's life was going to someone who spent long hours with the quiet, lonely man. Sure, he could put on one hell of a brave face, but Nazir could see past that.

"Life isn't on my side at the moment, Nazir." Remus told him with that soft calm. Something wistful hinted in his words. Nazir swallowed.

"How about a lighter fare, then?" he asked with what he hoped was easy diversion. "I heard from a certain someone that another certain someone's birthday is, oh, about eleven days from now?"

The man across from him was smiling that tired smile so synonymous with Remus Lupin.

"Now, I thought my employer was not supposed to disclose personal information."

"Not if he is disclosing it to he favorite nephew!" Nazir grinned and leaned back in the booth seat. He saw Remus roll his eyes in the warm light.

"So any plans?"

"I'll visit my mother."

"Anything else?"

"Hmm. A bar of chocolate, alone in my flat?"

"Oh. You make me sound like a bad friend, Remus!" Nazir pouted and moved forward to prop his elbows on the dark wood table.

"So I have other options?" The other man was giving him that rare, humored look. Most of the time, Remus's mirth only managed to reach his voice and maybe the corners of his mouth. This instance, Nazir saw far more as his companion's eyes lit up with barely concealed mischief.

"No. You only have one option."

"And what's that?"

Nazir allowed himself a wicked smile

"I'm going to finally treat you to that game of football and then we'll go to the pub."

"You're not just saying that?" it was an odd mix of levity and tentativeness in Remus's voice; Nazir wasn't sure how to school his expression so he simply continued with dogged conviction.

"Nothing will stop that game. I don't care if it's raining, misting, bloody sleeting. Hell, if it's snowing I'll just buy you a anorak for a gift and we'll play one on one."

"I'm not getting out of this, am I?"

Nazir shook his head, glad that Remus's reluctance was mostly an act.

"You're part of the world, Remus. You need to play its game."

* * *

Wednesday, march tenth was practically astronomical compared to the Sunday eleven days prior. It must have been a greater power that ordered the planets to align on Remus's birthday. In all honesty, he had no idea what it meant. If the event had any massive metaphorical implications, they were lost in the riot of Muggles claiming apocalypse.

The part about the world ending on his birthday was somehow more believable.

Still, the orderly line the planets found themselves easily eclipsed by proceedings on one small, blue sphere in one small, insignificant country, in an even smaller insignificant city. The smallest and most insignificant of aspects was the man to whom all this happened to. Certainly, for a brief time in history when homo sapiens were the dominant creature of the planet, his name would be referenced in papers about modern war and civil rights, but in the grand scheme of the universe was that really anything?

Remus Lupin pondered this in the cold afternoon mist of London. Somehow the pondering of his inconsequential existence had lifted him from near constant brooding. It was fitting he realized this on his birthday. He was a year older after all.

So on March tenth, the planets watching from alignment, Remus followed Nazir Gupta (who had not needed to invest in an anorak) to the park in Wembley. His friend's warm eyes were bright in the grey fog and his dark hands rolled between them a ball of great consequence. Perhaps in some distant solar system where all nine of their planets also happened to be aligned, this ball was worshiped like a proper, monotheistic deity. On earth, it remained just what it was: a ball, but if one observed reverence with which Nazir held it, they might have thought otherwise.

Grinning, the young man spun to glance at Remus.

"I know the weather is awful, but a promise is a promise. And it's totally worth it."

"I'm not complaining." said the man who had come to Nazir's world to escape.

On March tenth, 1982, when all nine planets aligned, something else fell into place in Remus Lupin's tattered life. What was once deemed an easy avoidance of what was lost, became something more. Because good people who went out of their way to do good things existed even in the most mundane, most non-magical places. And that in itself was astronomical.

Remus didn't mind the weather as they passed through the park gates and walked onto the empty football field. They sat on the bench for a few minutes as Nazir explained the game. All the while cold damp seeped into both men. Nazir apologized for the weather a fifth time when Remus quieted him.

"I don't mind the mist" he smiled fully and genuine "Something about it makes me feel more alive than I've felt in ages." Nazir nodded at this like some tacit truth engraved on every plaque in the universe.

Moments later they were on the green playing one on one, puffing great exhales of steam into the late winter air. Nazir was excellent. Remus could hardly stay upright. All the while he was grinning, closer to the world than ever before.

"Everyone in the world plays football." Nazir had told him once, months before

"And it makes everyone part of the world."

He was stumbling across the field, slick with dew. Water clung to his skin and the exertion made him hot in the cold air. He breathed in sharp and hard, the world smelling fresh and clean. Never before had Remus felt so truly and sincerely included.

Final note: the planets did actually align on March tenth 1982- okay... Maybe they didn't align perfectly but they were juat degrees away from a true zysygy (that is actually a word). Events like that only happen in a millennia. Congrats to those of you alive then! Also, hope my britishims were accurate! I'm doing my research.


	2. Chapter 2

Well hello! Thank you guest reviewer for pushing me along. I hope this is up to your expectations. In this chapter, Remus becomes aware of the term 'What comes around goes around' in a very positive way and an independent punk girl realizes that sometimes those who appear bland are the most fascinating and respectable people.

Enjoy!

Rudefool

Chapter Two: Deceptive Appearances and Orbital Patterns

With August came the bright, hot streets of London garbed in bleached beige. Everything was a buzzing, whirring mess of people twisting through the streets with frantic and heat induced rage. The summer crowd would rush through the city with one last huzzah to prepare for September and fall's inevitable return. They would pull out eventually like a wave sucked from the shore. But for the moment it was hectic and wild, truly more colorful than the usual grey of London. Something about it reminisced Carnival and southern sun over richly toned beaches. The usually musty damp left in favor of a semblance of Paris's marbled grandeur, nearly a blinding white in the gold of the heavens. There was a moment of prismatic light over the city for that week in August, as if someone had sold all the clouds and used the earnings to set a massive jewel into the sky. The life breathed down those streets was hot and muggy, alive and tangible.

Remus Lupin sat in a rare spot of shade with the company of an oscillating fan. To his right sat a table stacked high with books and cassette tapes, a teetering mountain of glinting plastic cases and sello taped spines.

It was his first week on the job at a book shop in Camden. They had set him outside with the words "Newbie needs some color in that pasty skin of his." and a bottle of sun block.

Remus was very pleased with his new position. Back in late June, Mr. Gupta had pulled him aside with an uncharacteristic and wicked grin.

"I'm moving to Manchester." he told Remus.

"With Nazir?"

"Someone has got to keep that boy out of trouble."

The werewolf couldn't believe the man's sudden change of heart. He would have checked for a polyjuiced Nazir if they weren't currently smack in the middle of Muggle London.

"So you're leaving the Tesco?"

Mr. Gupta shrugged with nonchalance suggesting sudden freedom.

"I've earned enough to settle down. So I decided to take some courses at Manchester Polytechnic."

"That's great! Well, I wish both you and Nazir luck." Remus had tried to disguise his disappointed tone. The nephew and uncle duo were people he had become very fond of. They were leaving though, like most of the individuals Remus ever cared about. At the wizard's words, Sahib Gupta turned sharply. The older man squinted behind his chunky plastic specs.

"And you seem to think we will leave you with no luck at all, Mr. Lupin?" Remus fumbled for words.

"Save your breath Lupin. I extended you pay into July. I trust you'll use that money to find a job that fits your intelligence better than a Tesco cashier."

Turning red, Remus thanked his manager profusely. After crawling through his dark, lonely life, the months proceeding the death of his friends, it was nothing short of a miracle he had found the wonderful people he did.

Mr. Gupta only waved away Lupin's thank yous with another out of character grin.

"We'll send a letter when we've settled in. Nazir is keen on keeping in touch." he said brusquely

"We expect a regular correspondence- and visits. Nazir might force you to endure lunch with him every month or so." at those gruff words, Remus was reminded of Alistair Moody. It was strange that the connection he felt with the Guptas whent both ways and they were truly interested in being friends. Remus never concidered that this pattern of give-and-take was actually quite common and the opposite of strange. He could be a very blind werewolf at times.

It had taken a bit of trial and error to finally aquire the job at the book shop, in Camden. For Remus, it was idyllic. There was nothing like rows of tomes stacked high in some low ceilinged, narrow, cramped room where there were so many books a person couldn't see hear or smell anything else. Remus felt very at home.

He did not feel very at home in the midday sun, though. The employees (a truly nice, intelligent lot, really) had fallen into that well worn ritual of 'baiting the firsties'. Remus happened to be the newest of the bunch and was therefore given the most unpleasant jobs like sitting out in the heat to monitor the books set out on the sidewalk. In all honesty, it wasn't that unpleasant, just terribly uncomfortable as Remus had decided to wear trousers that day and had conviently left his wand at his flat. That meant no cooling charms. The fan provided little relief and really only functioned as a noise maker. Somehow the day still remained that jubilant glow and Remus could feel it on his skin. Desperately, he hoped the sunscreen did its job and he wouldn't turn up at work the next day resembling a great, Gryffindor-red lobster. Remus was sure he didn't

He had been reading a J. G. Ballard novel for the past hour, occasionally book marking a page when a customer showed up. The words held a strange world Remus had never before considered. Vignettes of hauntingly crystalline lagoons full of sunken sky scrapers seemed terribly foreign and wonderfully exotic. He almost felt part of the surreal landscape, as if the sun had flared up and the pavement was only the glittering, rippling mirage-like surface. Below, the city swam hundreds of feet to the purpled, silty bottom. Remus loved the imagery. Maybe he would buy the book himself.

He continued with Ballard's pleasingly strange science fiction until the sun rounded the awning, the battered cream of the page became stark white and the dark font became a ripple of red on blinding brightness. Deeming it impossible to read in that light, Remus closed the book and worked a finger into his temple. After three long months the summer was getting to him.

Sighing, he placed the book back in the folding table, feeling a kindred spirit in its heavily taped binding.

"Is it any good?" a voice came from his far right. For some reason, Remus couldn't decipher the words directed at him. Things were kind of hazy in the heat out there.

"Huh?" he asked with terrific eloquence and a girl came into his line of vision.

"I said, is it any good?"

Remus would have been perfectly capable of answering that question if her appearance hadn't been so disarming. No she wasn't stunningly gorgeous or horribly ugly, nor was she exceedingly tall or short or any other physical extreme a body could be. Remus could hardly even think about whether she was attractive or not when it was so hard to see past everything else on her face. By Merlin's beard and Arthur's sword! Who voluntarily put so many piercings on their face?

"Huh?"

He noticed she had eyes after she rolled them in apparent exasperation. They would have been quite striking in their fresh minty color if all the metal was not present. Briefly, Remus wondered if his mind was normally this sluggish. He had possessed more social aptitude conversing with a hag than this slightly hardware excessive young lady. Maybe it was the heat getting to him.

"I said- oh never mind." and she made to move inside, jingling slightly. Remus awoke from his daze with sudden comprehension.

"Wait!" he called after her form in the threshold. The girl turned with an eyebrow raised, three silver rings accompanying it on a journey sky wards.

"It's really quite good." he stood suddenly, book in hand, and all the blood rushed to his head.

Apparently, the heat had been getting to him. Remus's vision tunneled dark around the edges and a swift bought of vertigo brought him down onto the collapsible table and then further down to the ground. All the while he clutched the 50 pence paperback of Ballard's The Drowned World, wishing someone could sello tape his spine back together- not because he was having back issues, but because he was always falling apart.

The girl was before him in an instant.

"Are you alright?" she asked after a small utterance of curses. Remus tried to respond past the ringing in his ears and only managed to get a weak "Fine" by the Hogwarts Express that had pulled up in his head.

"You're not very convincing." she offered a hand.

"Sorry..." she shrugged off the apology and hoisted him up. Remus's body was not very pleased by the motion and he floundered all over his savior in an embarrassing choreography of light-headedness.

"You work here, right?" she asked as they entered the shop.

"I do."

For once in his life, Remus wished there weren't so many books, as thousands of spines wavered in the sudden darkness of the room. It was like plunging into hot water after standing in a snow bank. He shook his head to dispel the titles floating across his vision and immediately regretted the action. The overly pierced woman guided him to the register wedged between two towers of books.

"I believe you lost this." she said brusquely to the woman behind the counter. Remus, after standing for a bit, had regained some of his motor skills and more of his tact.

"Sorry Beatrice." he apologized, recalling the strange and wild woman, also named Beatrice, from Ballard's novel "I think the sun got to me."

The civilized Beatrice only shook her head.

"And it appears Ms. Bellamy got to you after that." his fellow employer eyed the woman beside Remus.

"There's water in the back and a sandwich in the fridge- chicken salad, I think."

"Thank you."

"No problem, Remus. Really, we weren't exiling you, we would've let you take a break."

The Drowned World was still in one hand. Remus gave a small smile

"I got a bit distracted."

Beatrice nodded as if that explained everything and then shooed him off to the break room in the back. Ms. Bellamy followed with a curious look.

"You're new here."

"That's correct." Remus confirmed mildly, battling a burgeoning headache.

"They always put the new ones out on the sidewalk."

"I figured."

"You're the longest so far."

Remus stopped and peered at the strange girl.

"Pardon?"

"All the others go back inside after an hour or so."

"Well, I was out there for a while. I hope you weren't watching the whole time, can't say I'm all that interesting."

"No."

Remus couldn't decide what the girl meant. He was feeling very socially inept that day. The sun seemed to have sapped his supply of words.

"Does that mean you're overly dedicated, oblivious or stupid?" Bellamy asked this very directly and looked up to meet Remus's eyes sharply.

"May I choose more than one?" he asked.

There was a bought of silence in which the young woman watched the werewolf with a slight, calculating frown. Remus would have felt uncomfortable if he hadn't spent years under the stringent scrutiny of Minerva McGonagall. Instead, he calmly held the gaze until she spoke again.

"Amber Bellamy." she held out a hand "You're too not bad, Romulus."

* * *

Amber Bellamy was not a fan of men in general. They expected all the wrong things from women. Society hadn't granted her a optimum spot because of gender. She hated that. It was wrong and disgusting that chauvinist pigs ran the nation.

So Amber rebelled in true youth fashion, appearing in public like poster child rebellion, piercings, leather, studs. She felt fantastic, making people look twice. The old and straight laced would watch, appalled; Amber only grinned back, teeth startlingly white against black lipstick. They would either pull the stick out of their arse or keep it there, forever uncomfortable with the constantly changing world around them. With this in mind, she would stomp down streets, punk, dangerous, simply changing a nation with her looks.

The only men she truly respected were those she never met, great artists of the past: Carravaggio, Reubens, Van Gogh, Monet, Vermeer, Cezanne. Amber was sure they'd all be a bunch of bastards if she met them in real life, but as a young painter herself, she almost required to place them on some elaborate marble pedestal. This state of mind was more than concrete, it may as well have been etched in diamond and set in titanium. That was soon to be remedied, though.

And a certain Remus Lupin, self exiled werewolf wizard, would be the catalyst.

When Amber Bellamy first met Remus Lupin, she found him feeble, useless and a bit slow. He had fallen all over her in a completely non-sexual manner before waiting another five minutes to present her with coherent sentences. He must have been a masochist, out there in long trousers and a button down shirt while the thermometer was wavering at, or above, 35 degrees Celsius. In the morning, Amber had passed the book shop with interest. She had heard from Beatrice that they had gotten a new employee and that he would be expected on the sidewalk that Friday at 9 o'clock. Sure enough, on her way to the art supply store, Amber spotted the man accompanied by a table of books and tapes, a box of records and an old fan. After several hours of painting, she ventured from her flat, once again, for coffee and was astounded to see the new employee still out in the heat. It was four in the afternoon and the sun was an orange ball, rolling down the black top of London. Amber didn't even know why she was getting coffee when it was so hot. She decided to detour and meet the man who decided it had been a good idea to guard a load of excessively taped, secondhand books so steadfast for so long.

The subsequent conversation was lacking, to say the least, and it was apparent he couldn't last the final hour without passing out completely. She helped him in the store, feeling both annoyed and a little sorry for the man. Her pity increased when she found out he was pretentiously named after one of the founders of Rome. Briefly, Amber wondered what his parents had expected of him with a title like that. Perhaps the saddest part was that Remus wasn't the brother founded the great empire and, if her memory served her correctly, had actually been killed and most likely with great Roman bravado borrowed from the Greeks.

The current Remus Lupin was certainly not history creating material- at least in Amber's eyes- and it would take the proceeding weeks for the man to prove her otherwise. Needless to say, her beliefs were up for some revising.

* * *

Someone had donated at least fifteen copies of the same book. Amber glared at the mass of Joseph Mallord William Turner on the shelf across from her. It was rubbish, really, expecting something new in the art section of the Camden book store. J. M. W. Turner had dominated the selection for a better part of the summer, Amber was only asking for a small change. Maybe some Egon Shiele or Klimt, something with big shapes and fleshy color.

"I come bearing gifts." a voice came from around the corner. She didn't know how such a skinny man could hold so many books, but Remus Lupin seemed eager to disprove anatomical physics. Sliding Popism: The Warhol Sixties into a free space, he asked

"So what are you looking for?"

"I'm not looking for Turner."

"Of course. It seems you've already found him, anyway."

Amber wasn't sure where to place Remus on her spectrum of friendship. Often enough, the needle hovered over 'Tolerance', but would at times jump to 'Annoyance. On exceptionally good days, when the men on the tube didn't jeer at her or the boys in her painting class didn't make comments about the nude female model, Amber found Lupin genuinely pleasant. He wasn't like most men. In a way, he was terribly old-fashioned. It was easy to imagine him during the 40s, all clean shaven and muted tones, but there would need to be a hair cut; his sandy, very plain, thick locks had a habit of curling in front of his eyes.

As an artist, Amber was prone to examining faces, and Lupin's was particularly interesting. He looked old. Not exactly old in a physical sense, more like the kind of age glimpsed in the Indo-Pakistani war article of a recent National Geographic. All the subjects in the photos had this haunted look in their eyes. Remus Lupin hid it very well, but at times, Amber would catch him staring off into the distance, his gaze laden with something she had never witnessed beyond the pages of those magazines or news reports. Appearing all the seasoned veteran, he looked on like he had been fighting the Soviets in Afghanistan. Like he had seen death and felt loss. It was somewhat terrifying and very definite. She knew one didn't become like that by simply selling books in Camden.

Still, Lupin was very unremarkable- almost tediously so, as if he were trying to be as plain as possible. He never spoke loudly, never cursed, never said anything rude, never wore anything beyond a plain button up shirt and dull colored trousers. Remus Lupin was the epitome of inoffensiveness- the complete opposite of Amber.

However, it was the fact he was so unspectacular that made him just the contrary. Remus seemed to go out of his way to fade into the woodwork. He would swim the British channel if it were for the sake of cementing his own normalcy. Amber observed this in her own interactions with him. The man had such painstaking patience that the saints should have worshipped him. He refused to raise his voice or argue as to avoid drawing attention to his person. On a regular basis, she took to baiting him. He got new nicknames like Mr. Vanilla and Whitebread Lupin. Anything plain and bland became synonymous with Remus. Often Amber would enter the shop with an insult on her lips: "Oi Whitebread! The non-scented soap at school today reminded me of you." or "I've got a whole box of plain carry out rice in my fridge with your name on it, Vanilla.". He would only laugh that infuriatingly mild little chuckle of his. Baiting Remus Lupin was terrifically unsuccessful.

It was hard to tell whether this was due to a complete lack of spine or something else. While Lupin first appeared to be quite weak and without any nerve whatsoever, it became apparent he was an entirely different thing. This actually made Amber want to stop observing him because it was really racking up her respect for Remus at a petrifying rate. Lupin actually thought her jabs were funny. He thought they were funny and chose to do nothing about them. It was astounding.

Amber couldn't believe the man actually enjoyed being made fun of, but all evidence pointed in that direction. In fact, last Wednesday, Amber had purchased a book and, while at the register, she spotted the job chart on the wall behind the counter. A great smear of yellow chalk clouded the spot where Lupin's name usually sat. Instead, the neat, measured handwriting Amber had come to recognize as Remus's had spelled out 'Mr. Vanilla'.

It was so infuriating.

She had no idea what to do with him.

* * *

Of course Amber had been avoiding the coffin labeled 'Ms. Bellamy's Respect for Mr. Lupin (A.K.A.- Mr. Vanilla)'. The hammer was poised for that final nail. One pound later and it would be in the ground with a massive carved headstone to immortalize the mounting regard she felt for that otherwise perplexing man. Amber would save that for later. She wasn't too keen on honoring those of the opposite gender- no matter how patient or witty or irritatingly noble they were. This reluctance may have stemmed from her easy disregard of men in general. Amber had little use for males as she wasn't even attracted to them in the first place. They were of completely no use to her. Therefore, it wasn't hard ignore Lupin- at least for all the common attributes of common men. Oddly, it turned out that, despite all apparent blandness, Remus failed to share many of those characteristics. He, for a lack of better terms, was an uncommon man, an enigma and that irritated Amber like an itch on the part of your back impossible to reach.

So she stopped her in-depth observations. The nail in the coffin could wait until the last possible moment.

That last possible moment came sooner than Amber would have liked. September began with the weather still all hot and bothered. The night on the first of the month simmered after the sun relinquished its sharp rays and heat still rose from the pavement in humid spirals. All around, the air still sounded like summer, as the last wave of students spent the week before University restarted in riotous abandon. Rolls of music, shouting and laughter fell like a dark tide cresting in the moon light. The final bang before classes started. Amber would be back at the Slade School on the sixth and a nervous excitement egged on in the back of her mind. She missed the professors and the studios and how the whole campus seemed to smell of linseed oil. The summer months of inactivity would not be something Amber yearned for when she returned to the university. She was not part of the rowdy celebrations.

Lights, neon and glittering, pressed into the dusty darkness, faded as Amber walked. The twin headlights of cars became less frequent as she moved out into the residential expanses of grey apartment complexes. The heavy quiet of the night no longer held glimpses of life, occasionally a dog barked, like a threat to the silence. The smell of alley born fermentation reached Amber's nose. The city was an awful cloud of stink in the hotter months. Summer seemed to intensify the odors and fall was still far off if one based predictions on the current weather.

So caught up with the character of the night, Amber only noticed the figure behind her when it was too late. In some cruelly cliched scene she was grabbed from behind and bundled into the gap between two buildings. This was why her mum told her not to walk alone at night. Amber rarely listened to her mum.

The man pressing into her smelled of alcohol and sweat and looked as if he recently rolled out of a gutter. Amber was not impressed. This was one of the reasons she did not like men. Quickly, she lashed out. A fist to the hollow of his eye socket sounded the dull thud of flesh on flesh. He reeled back with slurred cursing. Unfortunately, this did little to deter her attacker. As if on rebound, he ricocheted back, a grubby, ruddy face in hers. The light was bad, a lamp across the street, and the world sounded empty except for the breathing of the two people in the alley.

The man said something. Amber wasn't sure what language he spoke. If it was English, he was too drunk for coherency. She coiled back for another punch, knuckles still smarting, but he deftly slammed the fist onto the bricks behind them. Both hands locked in place, Amber brought up her knee into something- she wasn't sure in the darkness. He grunted and swore fiercely, still, he remained leering and threatening over her. All at once, Amber felt a terrible fear sweep over her. It was nearly incapitating, almost suffocating. For long seconds, nothing could crawl from her throat. Any attempted exclamation was caught and breathy. Suddenly, the man pressed full against her. Amber shouted a great, panicked

"Get off!" and struggled under the grasp.

She screamed again, and the frantic pounding of footsteps rounded the alley corner.

In an instant, almost a flash, the body was blown off her. It landed a meter away, falling heavily against the bins. The clattering was almost deafening and it brought her from a shocked daze. The flung figure remained against the wall, motionless. Amber slid down the brick to the ground, shivering in the heat.

Everything was quiet, save for her harsh breath. The swish of fabric brought Amber's vision to her rescuer. It was too dark to identify a face. They crouched down before her, but at a distance and asked tentatively

"Miss? Are you alright?" another man, but somehow comforting. Maybe it was the familiarity of his hoarse, but mild voice.

"Remus?" no nicknames tonight. It was strange how reassuring it was when she was sure it was him.

"Amber?" his speech was a whisper, unbeleiving and borderline frantic.

"Merlin. Amber. Dammit."

It was the first time she had heard Remus Lupin curse. In some frivolous part of her mind, not yet weighed down by the recent events, Amber wished this first had occurred during a time when teasing him relentlessly about it was appropriate. In the present, however, she could dredge up little humor. The implications of what nearly happened were blinding her, dizzying and horrifying.

"'M fine." she managed between shaky inhales.

"No, you're not." She wished he didn't sound so firm. She wanted to be alone. She prayed to wake up, because it was obviously some twisted, awful dream when bloody Remus Lupin was her knight in shining armor.

"Amber? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

She shook her head, afraid of her voice. How could she be so feeble in front of this man? Lupin was nothing, spineless, with no nerve, but the unconcious man between the bins revealed a different story. God. Amber hated being the damsel in distress. What a horrible turn of events.

At least Remus hadn't touched her yet. She was immensely greatful for that.

"I can't leave you here Amber."

"My apartment is just down the block." Amber managed, standing. And then, to her horror, she burst into tears.

At that point, Amber was mostly cursing herself: for not listening to her Mum, for not being strong enough to throw off her attacker, for having to be saved by Remus Lupin and, most of all, for dissolving into some disgusting female stereotype. Possibly the worst part was when she started blubbering into Lupin's shirt. She wasn't sure how she got there, but the position was awfully embarrassing and Remus didn't seem confident in where to put his hands. He settled one on her right shoulder while the other fell, uncertain, to his side, twitching every so often.

"Come on. We need to get you out of here." He said.

Amber nodded and cursed Remus for being so comforting. In some horrible paradox, she fervently wished he would leave while also hoping desperately for him to stay. They stumbled out of the gap, leaving the unconscious man and the trauma of what nearly happened behind.

Amber felt weak, hardly able to focus on the familiar street. Remus supported her, stoic and almost statuesque in the half light of the city. The horror of what had just occurred was all-consuming and it nearly caused her to walk right past the door of her apartment building. Reeling back, Amber managed to get up the stairs (four flights) and somehow insert the key into her flat's lock. All the while, Remus was a steady rock to lean on. By that time she really didn't want him to leave.

As the door swung inwards, it became apparent he was reluctant to enter.

"Do you want me to call someone? There's a pay phone down the-"

"Don't go."

"Amber, I really don't know-"

"Just please... Please don't leave me alone."

She dragged him in, half tripping over the rug. The room was a mess, old, partially gessoed over canvasses, empty tubes of paint, a huge, amorphous wad of modeling clay. Any other day Amber would be bashful about the clutter, especially when neat-freak, Whitebread Lupin was the company. That night, she was just too embarrassed about bawling all over him to care.

"God, I'm pathetic." she moaned between sobs and then collapsed on the sofa. Remus shut the door and hurried over.

"Don't be ridiculous." came quietly chiding.

"I am ridiculous!" Amber buried her face into a pillow.

Apparently, Remus had no idea how to respond to this and all she heard from him was the sound of him kneeling beside the sofa.

"I'm a mess. You must think I'm a mess."

"I don't think you're a mess."

"Don't lie! I bet you're just thinking" (sob) "that Amber" (sob) "is a big, bloody mess!"

She felt a wary hand on her shoulder. Gently, it tugged. Amber followed, feeling like a sniveling child.

"Amber, listen. This is something anyone would be a mess over. Don't be ashamed."

"But I am ashamed!" tearfully, she pulled at her short dark hair. Why did Lupin have to be there? She had been so weak! She wasn't supposed to need men to save her from distressing situations, but there she was, clinging to Remus Lupin's cheap button down shirt, bawling into the thin fabric.

"The only guilty party is that man who attacked you." he told her with a foreign hint of fearocity. His fingers felt rough on her chin as he lifted it to meet gaze. In the dim light of her flat, past the distortion of tears, she saw his eyes hold something hard and almost fiery.

"Don't feel guilty or weak or shameful." he told her like a seasoned warrior "I know you're a very strong woman, but plenty of people are around to help you. I'm just glad I was here for you tonight."

There was something very firm about Remus Lupin, like he was the one tree in the forest standing after the flood swept the others away. Amber couldn't avoid it. He was pretty damn impressive- for a man. Tearily, she laughed.

"Stop trying to be more special than Mr. Vanilla. I'll have to start calling you Mr. Chocolate."

Remus laughed too, some levity returning after the leaden weight of the proceedings in the alley.

"Chocolate isn't too bad."

"Just like you, Romulus. You're not too bad."

Amber was sure the sound of metal on metal rang somewhere as the final nail wedged into the coffin.

* * *

It was September second and Amber was shaking Remus awake from where he had fallen asleep on her sofa. Some dormant motherly instinct told her to leave the man alone, though. Maybe it was the uncomfortable night before (which Amber refused to feel guilty about now, after Remus had told her so many times not to be ashamed) that made him look so drawn and pale. He wasn't rising with her nudges. Cool London light poured through her windows, making Remus look almost grey. Dark circles hung below his closed lids. It seemed wrong to wake a man who so obviously needed rest. Amber decided to let the sleeping dog lie- not that Remus would cause a scene if she finally did manage to wake him: all he'd do is apologize profusely for being on her couch and that would just get annoying.

So she put the kettle on and settled for sketching the man. He was so still in sleep. All that moved was a soft rise and fall of his chest. A perfect model- until the pot started whistling and his eyes shot open along with the rest of his body, which lurched up so suddenly he nearly toppled over. Amber, across from Remus, in an over stuffed arm chair, only frowned. Fully awake in a matter of seconds, he seemed to be on high alert, scanning his surroundings like strategist would a chessboard.

"Good morning, Mr. Vanilla."

Quickly, he countered "I thought I was Mr. Chocolate now."

Amber wondered how he could sound so mild after leaping up like a bomb had just gone off. Then again, Remus always sounded mild. It was easy to imagine him completely calm in some awful instance like falling from a sky scraper. The whole time he'd be telling her it's alright to be scared and that anyone would be terrified, but he wouldn't sound afraid at all.

"You'll always be Mr. Vanilla, Whitebread." then, without much thought, she asked "Are you a veteran, Remus?"

It was strange. He kept a completely blank expression, but his eyes turned steely and sharp. For a moment, Amber saw a strength in them never before glimpsed. Lupin looked formidable.

"In a way, yes."

"In a way?"

his mouth tightened to a poor imitation of a smile "I would really prefer we not discuss this." once again, that firmness returned. Amber debated whether to press further. Her developing questions were nearly halted by that now familiar, haunted look on his face. Remus seemed aged, older than his young face suggested.

"How old are you?" Amber with as little thought as her first question. It may have been a rude query, but she cared little for the verbal hoops jumped in polite conversation.

"Twenty two."

"Hm. Just checking."

Remus quirked a brow, but the smile seeped a little back into the flint of his eyes.

"Am I too crotchety?"

"Of course."

He grinned more, stretching with a series of resounding pops.

"Maybe I should get a piercing."

Amber reasoned that only in a universe where everyone ate soup with knives would Remus Lupin get a piercing.

"Please don't." she begged "I'll get one for you instead."

"Really? You'd do that for me?"

"No. I'm thinking of getting Whitebread tattooed across my back, though."

"Charming."

That morning, after a cup of tea, the two walked down to the bookstore like old friends. Amber had never seen Remus smile so wide before. She told him this and he only shook his head fondly.

"You should meet my friend Nazir. He got a good laugh out of me when we played football. I'm rubbish at football."

"So am I."

And despite all the dislike she had for men, Amber couldn't help but like the man named Remus Lupin.

-/-

Of course the whole ordeal had been incredibly awful and embarrassing and frightening, but Amber felt pretty bad about never thanking Remus. That was the reason she stood in front of his flat Saturday afternoon. There was a second reason too. The day before, she had ripped through her own flat in search of some legal papers she needed to fill out before school started up again. Instead of finding what she wanted, Amber came across a thin jacket under a sofa pillow. It was too plain to be her own- a rather dull, powdered blue color- and it had a handful of foreign coins in one pocket. Immediately, she knew it was Remus's.

It should have been easy to return the thing, but its owner had made himself scarce the past few days. Friday at the bookshop was bereft of any Remus. Beatrice was behind the counter, glasses down her nose, looking somewhat sadly at the job chart where 'Mr. Vanilla' had a blank row next to his name.

"He called in sick this morning." she told Amber "It's a good thing he did, too. He looked terrible yesterday."

He wasn't there Saturday morning either. So Amber managed to get an address out of Beatrice and then hopped on a train to the east side after lunch.

That was how she ended up in front of Remus Lupin's flat door. The area really didn't fit. Amber always imagined he would have a place on the west end, over a picturesque candle shop or something equally kitschy. She imagined the numbers on his door would be brass and the paint wouldn't be chipped or some odd grey beige color. This man had a habit of proving her wrong, though.

The flat number 43 was printed on a transparent sticker that caught air bubbles between the paint and curled around the edges in the humidity. In the dank grey stairwell, garbage cowered in the corners and the air smelled musty with ammonia. Amber was keen on getting away from the unpleasant atmosphere.

As a rather loud, upfront person, she found no qualms about pounding on the door. If he was still sick, she'd make him feel better- somehow. Plus, she really didn't want his jacket.

After a few moments out on the landing, she heard the sound of movement from inside the apartment. The lock rattled as it was turned from the other side and the door swung in.

Amber had to admit, Remus looked terrible. The half buttoned shirt did little to disguise his state. He looked awfully thin underneath it and his bones jutted below his skin, casting dark shadows over his deathly pale form. For some very odd reason, it also looked as if he was recovering from a fight with something sharp. A cut ran across his cheekbone, visibly red against white skin.

"Hello Amber." well, it certainly sounded like he had been sick. The hoarse voice he usually had was only intensified.

"Remus! I have some stuff for you." she held the jacket up with a little shake that jangled the coins within.

"Ah. I was wondering where that vanished to. Thank you." he finished with a tight smile. Amber returned it with equal forcedness. She prepaired for her own thank you. Even at a young age, Amber was never gifted at showing her appreciation. This deficiency only seemed to increase with age. It would take a large amount of swallowed pride, but after what the man before her had done, he certainly deserved it. A dark part of her mind had taken to imagining what would have happened that night if Remus hadn't found her. Each time she became more greatful. It was plenty annoying how much she owed him.

Remus was watching her expectantly and Amber realized she had been quiet for a while. Hastily, she burst into some form of dialogue.

"So, I didn't get to thank you and if you hadn't been there I really don't want to think about what could've happened so thank you Remus." Amber refused to turn red. There was no way she could be embarrassed. She was completely confident and none of this was awkward at all.

"It was no problem. I'm just glad I was there to help."

Suddenly, Amber summoned words from a vast recess in her mind never before identified

"I was wrong about you." came practically rushing out like air from a leak.

"Oh? How so?"

"I thought you were normal and bland and spineless. You're not though."

"Hmm... But I'm still Mr. Vanilla?"

Amber wasn't sure what to do with herself. Should she leave? Maybe demand lunch? Instead, she continued the banter

"Remus Lupin will always be Mr. Vanilla. No amount of cliched heroics will change that." She finished with a firm poke to his chest. This turned out to be completely the wrong choice. Immediately, Remus hissed something with obvious pain and then moved his hands from their previous grip on the door frame to the afflicted area. This motion also turned out to be a bad choice, as the frame had been what was keeping the man on his feet.

The proceeding scene was sorely reminiscent of their first meeting on the sidewalk with the J. G. Ballard novel- except less annoying and more worrisome. There was about an equal amount of stumbling as before and Remus kept on with a series of breathy apologies that Amber just wished would stop.

"Christ. Shut up for a moment." he did- and then used the energy saved from being quiet to attempt to regain footing.

"What the Hell happened to you? Did you fight a bloody bear?"

"I'm fine." Remus was an expert at non-answers. Amber was an expert at getting what she wanted to know out of people.

"That's obviously a lie." she snapped as he went through another failed attempt to stand.

"It was." Remus agreed with sudden urgency and then continued hastily

"Look, Amber. Would you forgive me if a passed out on you?"

"What?!"

"I knew I could count on you." and with that, Remus Lupin did just what he had requested permission for.

Amber was almost one hundred percent positive this was the first man to become fully unconscious on her. Hopefully, Remus's name would be both at the top and bottom of that list.

She was holding him awkwardly, dragging his limp form over the threshold. The door would present a problem and Amber resolved to close it after putting Remus down somewhere. Carefully lowering his body to the floor, she attempted to shut it before realizing his legs were in the way. There was a large amount of huffing and puffing as Remus was dragged across the room and settled before a table like an unfortunate, battered rug. Amber kicked the door shut with a fierce bang. It didn't wake the man on the floor.

Squatting alongside his supine form, Amber attempted to determine what, exactly, was wrong with Remus. She was not doctor, but she did take anatomy courses in high school and college. They helped with her art. Amber wondered if they'd help with an unconscious Remus Lupin as well. Maybe unbuttoning the shirt was in order. She cringed at the thought. If this were any other man the whole ordeal would be completely avoided. Amber convinced herself that if it had not been Remus Lupin on the floor she would have left him there- but, as it turned out, she was becoming annoyingly fond of this particular man.

Under the shirt he was a mess. A loud swear broke the tense quiet. How the hell did a man like this end up in such a state? Right where Amber had poked him was a mass of bandaged gauze with little blossoms of crimson. Other similar spots were uncovered as she stripped off the garment. It was both terrifying and confusing.

Possibly the most perplexing was the network of scars that already stretched across Remus's torso, faded and old to new and pink. It suggested these injuries were a regular thing. Amber was baffled. This was a man who defied all expectations.

Sitting above Remus's body for a few, uncertain moments, the young artist contemplated what was before her. She looked long and hard at his gaunt, tired face. Something stirred in Amber. A rock seemed to settle down her throat. At first, she thought the feeling that arose was pity, but Amber Bellamy didn't pity. Either she was disappointed or impressed with someone, one or the other, nothing in between. But she could certainly feel a spectrum of things for herself, and, at that moment, she felt guilt.

It was that sort of caustic, unidentifiable guilt that had no descernable origin. Never accostomed to second-guessing herself, Amber struggled with it. And then struggled further with what she has to do with the obviously unwell Remus. She was caught between calling an emergency vehicle or dumping water all over him.

Lightly, she smacked the cheek without the cut while calling him by his real name, not Whitebread or Vanilla.

It seemed ages before he stirred. Amber had tapped his face enough to leave one side a rather pink hue next to the terrible pallor of the rest of Remus. Slowly, as if heaving the heavy lid from some stone sarcophagus, his eyes opened. He blinked

"Lily?" was murmured with almost careful disbelief. Amber wondered what that meant, maybe a name?

"Sorry to disappoint. It's just Amber."

"Amber?"

"Yes. Amber."

"Oh." Remus pulled his gaze from hers, looking the kind of disappointed one tried eagerly to cover up. Amber ignored that. She didn't care if she was wanted or not. All she wanted to do was get the stupid man on the sofa and get him some medical help.

"Remus, you look like hell. I'm calling the hospital."

Remus, who's lids had drifted closed again, suddenly scrambled up in a display of wounded agility.

"No, you will not." there was the firmness in his voice again.

Amber felt her eyebrow inch up.

"Sit on the sofa. I'm calling the hospital."

"Amber you will not do that."

"Oh? I won't?"

"Exactly. You won't."

"And who's going to stop me? Obviously not the invalid."

"Where did you get the idea I was an invalid?"

"After you fell all over me."

"I fell all over you when we first met. You didn't call me an invalid then."

"No, I just called you a masochist idiot that time."

"And why can't I just be a masochist idiot now and you just put down that phone."

"No! You're obviously not alright!"

"I'm fine."

"Idiot! I'm dialing the number now!"

Remus had not yet sat down on the sofa. Instead he moved shakily forward with an earnest desperation his physical state could not support. It was the most emotion she had seen from him so far.

"Amber! Please don't-" and he tripped over a fold in the rug, crumpling to fall flat on his face. Amber dropped the phone and it hung from the spiral chord, the dial tone floating quietly through the room. She moved to stand over the man on the ground, attempting to cover her worry with an unimpressed look.

"You must understand" Remus spoke into the carpet, sounding muffled and resigned "Hospitals and I have mutual dislike for each other."

"Well, you'll both have to suck it up because you look like you rolled through a rose bush in the nude."

Amber's name was groaned into the rug. She smirked triumphantly and proceeded to haul Remus's body onto the sofa. There was little protest from the man who only looked washed out from the earlier argument.

Then, Remus did something strange. He looked wearily at the dangling phone and then to a very smug Amber. If she hadn't been as observant, she probably would not have noticed his boney hand twitch slightly, but almost deliberately. A sharp snap drew her attention away to the phone. The chord had been mysteriously severed and the ear piece was skewed on the floor, clattering.

"Oh. My phone is broken." Remus sounded far to glad about this than a man in his condition should have sounded about anything.

Amber quirked a pierced eyebrow.

"You're a mess." she told him wisely

"Now you can't call the hospital."

As if he needed reiteration to understand, Amber repeated herself.

"You're a mess."

* * *

That day, August 4th, Remus Lupin's judgement was about as sound as tapioca pudding- that is to say, completely unsound. This was the reason he opened the door to his flat rather than convalesce on the sofa in his status of being quite battered . This was also the reason he chose witty banter with Amber in the stairwell rather than deep sleep on settee in his flat. Really, he was being fantastically unreasonable the whole time, but the revelation didn't come until he slipped his hold off the doorframe and ended up on the young lady. Remus could tell Amber was incredibly irritated and he put a large amount of effort into wondering why she didn't just throw his body back into his flat and close the door behind her.

Instead, she was tending to him. One could tell Amber thought it to be rather matronly as she stumbled over things with distinct unfamiliarity and slight distaste. Still, the stubborn young artist was sticking with him, the whole time appearing endearingly uncomfortable. Remus was glad of it too, because, for once, after the en masse death of his closest friends, he didn't want to be alone the day proceeding the full moon. And Amber was right. He looked like hell. He certainly felt like hell, too.

Amber made him spend the afternoon bundled on the sofa which was soon becoming some sort of quasi safe haven-Shangri La for his currently unstable health. It was surprising how long she stayed at his flat and the whole time she inserted wry, refreshing comments that made him forget he was a wild animal, thirsting for blood the night before.

"Where's your television?"

"I don't have one."

"Why not?"

"They're very distracting."

"You know, that's kind of the point."

"My mum cut off her finger because of a television."

"What?"

"She's a cabinet maker.* She should've been looking at the saw and not Monty Python's Flying Circus."

"Huh. So your mum's missing a finger?"

"Multiple fingers."

"Your mum sounds like a badarse. How'd she have you?"

"People always did say I took after my father."

"Did your dad wear tweed?"

"Loads."

"Not surprised. So no television. You really do read books all the time." Amber stood in front of one of the massive bookshelves in his flat. Remus was glad he had casted a few charms to disguise some of the more ridiculous wizarding titles.

Later on, she found the sole piece of muggle technology he owned other than the now decapitated phone.

"Is that a gramophone, Whitebread?" was asked almost incredulously

"Yes..."

"Oh, I swear you're just a time traveler from the 1940s."

"Sorry to disappoint. I was born in 1960."

"But you're so old fashioned." Amber plucked a record from the bin beside the gramophone and flashed him the title as if he didn't know what he owned.

"Frank Sinatra? Really? Couldn't you have something... I dunno... cooler?"

"I've got a few Beatles albums..."

Amber shook he head

"How generic of you, Vanilla."

"What? I like the Beatles." Remus tried to sound hurt, but couldn't over the fact he was so pleased she was keeping him company.

"And so does everyone else in the world. Try something with more edge. Have you heard of The Cure?"

Remus shook his head.

"Joy Division?"

Again, he replied negative.

"The Psychedelic Furs?"

"The Psychedelic Furs? What kind of name is that?"

"Christ. Someone needs to get you out from under that rock."

On the sofa, buried in a mound of blankets, Remus reasoned that, yes, maybe he should live a little.

"So how'd you get all torn up?" Amber asked suddenly, giving him a critical once-over. Remus was stuck. What excuse did he have?

"I rolled through a rose bush in the nude." was his best answer, straight faced and dry. Obviously unconvinced, Amber laughed and continued with a set of questions that Remus wasn't too keen on responding to.

"So, do you roll through the rose bushes on a regular basis?"

"Oh, about once every month or so."

"For any particular reason?"

The answer to that question could certainly not be 'because I'm a werewolf that loves roses' so Remus fumbled for something else.

"Because I'm a very sloppy drunk." this would have been a lot easier if he wasn't so bad at lying. Remus Lupin had always been an awful liar. No matter how good he was at concealing emotions or keeping a poker-face, the werewolf couldn't string together a few untrue words without sounding like he was asking himself a question.

"You're not a very good liar." Amber almost stated the obvious. Remus looked away from her green eyes with little to say to her remark.

"Did you get all those scars from being some kind of crime-fighting vigilante?" Amber broke the silence with another sudden query. She seemed very fond of sudden queries. The mention of Remus's scars made him characteristically nervous. He never liked it when people brought up his scars.

"Am I what?" he asked after missing the second part of her question.

"A vigilante, like Batman."

"Batman?"

"Yes. Batman."

"A bat man like Dracula?"

"No! Like Batman. Don't tell me you've never heard of Batman."

"I've never heard of Batman."

Amber looked at Remus long and hard. The werewolf twitched a bit under her surveillance. She appeared very contemplative, a look uncommon on her, for a lack of a better term, very deliberate face.

"Remus Lupin. You are so far under that rock that I swear I'll need a backhoe to dig you out."

Remus had no idea what a backhoe was, but he assumed it meant a fair amount of earth moving.

"You'd still dig me out, though?"

Amber thought this over for a few long seconds, eyebrows furrowing enough to bring one studded piercing to her eyelid.

"You know... I really don't like blokes..." it was almost a non-sequitur. Remus felt a bit disappointed, but it was an expected form of being let down that he was only too used to.

"But that's the problem with you, Remus" Amber continued as if talking to herself "You just go out of your way to be unlike any man I've met. It's really quite irritating."

"Sorry..."

Suddenly she was up and looking slightly upset.

"Don't be sorry for the compliment I just gave you, idiot!"

Remus was unsure of his response. Instead of any words, he continued on the sofa, feeling quite pathetic and injured.

"You're an odd one, Mr. Vanilla."

"Thank you, Amber."

"Anytime."

And maybe, for the first time since the death James, Lily and Peter, Remus felt a little more healed than all the other full moons alone. The young werewolf was so used to giving everything to the world and getting nothing in return, but this rough, blunt woman was there to prove him wrong, there to help him back.

A.N.

*If you're interested in the lives of young Remus and his mother and father you could take a peek at one of my other fics: A Rather Odd Lot. It explainsthe missing fingers bit. Hope you enjoyed this! Also, please review. I don't like to badger my readers, but since this is a fic with lots of OCs and nearly zero shipping I understand people won't be very interested. Those of you who are, please keep me going with some words of wisdom! Also, try some J. G. Ballard. He's one of my favorite Sci-Fi writers (Along with Douglas Addams.)


End file.
